Books
by Angelada
Summary: "Have you read all the books here?" /"Hermaeus Mora is the patron of information and memory, the keeper of knowledge in its entirety. Apocrypha is an endless library, I have spent lifetimes here!"- Miraak was going to find out just how serious The Dragonborn was about books. And just how far she was willing to go for those that captured her interest.
1. Chapter 1

It was a strange noise that first caught her attention, some kind of buzzing, or maybe a strong vibration that sounded out of thin air. The Dragonborn wasn't sure what it was, but she was sure it did not rumbled from the stone around them, like it would have been natural- them being underground and all- and that made her caution. It was with sharp eyes and strained ears that she stepped into the great opening at the end of the tunnel. Inside the new circular room, the stone flooring was strikingly out of place compared with the unkempt aspect of the previous spaces she'd explored. Rounded levels of stone were smoothened out and levelled as if carved especially for appeal, the crafting of the inter-most circle presenting a clearly decorative design. There were patterns in the walls as well; resembling black doors, on a closer look appeared to be made out of fragmented, interweaving vines. And as if that was not eerie enough, in the very centre of this picture stood erected a dust-covered plinth continuing high in the air through an odd ornament evoking the shape of a bird or a bat. On the left, the yellow light of a torch could be made out shining from behind another open door leading to who-knows-where.

It was none of those things that captured her interest the second time, not the dark atmosphere or the caress of magic in the humid air. Not even Frea's words of warning could have interrupted her from reaching out for the heavy, old book sitting innocently in front of her, collecting dust.

"There are dark magics at work here. Ready yourself." Her Skaal companion uttered urgently, but Malvina had more important things to do than listen to the woman.

Maybe it was a bit contra productive, given her line of work- orc stronghold and bandits-infested caves where not the best of places to get distracted by paper- but she'd always had a thing for books. Biographies, spell-books, historical books, adventure stories written on old scrolls, journals, diaries, anything and everything that was readable flared up her interest. It was something she was born with, this thirst for knowledge and her tendency to hoard up rare and not-so rare tomes.

Frea's muttering interrupted the Breton's staring contest with the black book, and Malvina sent a glare from under the hood of her armour. "This book…it seems wrong, somehow. Here, yet…not. It may be what we seek." It must have been too dark for the Nord to notice the stare, the Dragonborn realized sourly when her companion continued to talk gibberish. Divines, why did she have to end up with the crazy ones all the time!? Everyone knew books just weren't evil, they just… weren't! Shaking her head, Malvina did what seemed like the only thing to do.

She picked up the book and opened it eagerly, her leather-clad hands careful not to damage the old parchment, and by Mara, it was in perfect condition, no ripped corners, spilled ink of faded words! Greedily, she took in the boldly black text. Her native curiosity so powerful that, had she knew what would happen next, she would have probably done it anyway.

"_The eyes, once bleached by falling stars of utmost revelation…"_

…

"_The eyes, once bleached by falling stars of utmost revelation…"_

…

"_The eyes, once bleached by falling stars of utmost revelation…"_

…

The words repeated themselves in her mind in strange, disembodied voices, darker than the ones she was used to hearing near Word Walls, less human than even the chanting of the dragon-priests. Had she not been frustrated because she hadn't managed to read the rest of that book, she might have found it disturbing.

Or maybe not; once three or so Daedric Princes got into your head, you started to find few things disturbing anymore. Still, it wasn't every day the Dragonborn was eaten, quite literally, by a book.

Malvina mentally gave Solstheim some extra credits for its originality.

It was some time after the voices chanted that one frustrating verse ten or so times that the black surrounding her started to give way to colours; dull, ugly shades of green and yellows, but colours nevertheless.

Directly in front of herself she gradually started to make out new sound and a new voice, definitely human and in all probability haughty. "The time comes soon when…" Oh, it was human, male, and smug, no doubt about it.

The woman attributed the voice to the vaguely humanoid shadow slightly to the right, but trying to make out anything was proving to be quite a hassle, and that could have very well been a tree, or a horse, for all she knew.

When the world came into focus around her, it did so explosively. There were dragons, lightning spells and floating 'I-have-no-idea-what-you-are-but-you-look-like-something-related-to-a-netch' entities. She couldn't have said that she was surprised to find herself on her knees in no time, palms flat against the ground in an effort to balance herself. All Malvina could have said was that she was impressed.

It had been a long time since anyone had managed to stagger her with such efficiency and rapidity.

"Who are you who dares to step foot here?" The same man from before, a dragon-priest judging from his attire, shouted over the noise of hissing and… the same sound as before, that vibration, but stronger and sharper, filling the enormous space like some sort of malignant wind. Behind the masked man and the weird creatures, she thought she saw books and pages flying in circles in the background, but what really caught her eye were the massive bookshelves she could see scattered around at random.

She wagered those could have easily held in a couple of hundred of good books. Curiously, she turned her head to the left, studying her surroundings.

"Ahh, you are Dragonborn." The dragon-priest kept talking, some growing interest in his tone. From the corner of her eye she thought she could make out some of the tomes' titles. The Real Barenziah volume III stood squeezed between The Aetherium Wars and Immortal Blood, and just a shelve lower was something referred to as Ahzirr Traajijazeri. The man was still talking, and Malvina wondered how long it would take him to realize she wasn't really paying him any mind.

"I can feel it, and yet…"

What was this place, and why were there so many books? She stretched her neck to have a better look, and his voice faded away, thoughtfully. 'Did he take the hint?' She half-asked herself.

"So… you have slayed Alduin. Well done. I could have slayed him myself back when I walked the earth…"

No, it seemed he hadn't caught on just yet. On and on he went, oblivious to her disinterest. He reminded her of Frea somewhat.

"Excuse me!" She stated, unapologetically despise the wording of her dismissal, and the man simply stopped, most likely surprised, angered or offended- perhaps a combination of those. "What is with all those books? Are you a scholar?"

She did not grace him with her attention even when he spoke to him. Horror of Castle Xyr sounded like something she would enjoy reading…

"Foolish woman, I am Miraak, the first born Dragonborn, favourite of the Daedric Prince of Fate and Knowledge, Hermaeus Mora, one of the dragon-priests of old-"

"Yes, yes, I'm sure you are. Now, are you a scholar or not?" Oh, how she hated elusive answers! She hadn't asked him _who_ he was, really!

"What audacity! I am no simple scholar! I possess the forbidden knowledge of the Black Books; I retain understanding of things weaklings like you would not be able to comprehend in their lifetimes!" He growled, the earth shaking in response to his fury.

Still too weak to even stand in a sitting position, the Dragonborn's bit her lips in impatience and curiosity. "You like to read, than!" She exclaimed, brightly, even if an invisible force seemed to press harder and harder on her chest, slowly suffocating her.

"Have you read all the books here?" The man was quiet, but Malvina could only suppose the only reason she wasn't stared at evilly was the fact that his mask got in the way.

"Hermaeus Mora is the patron of information and memory, the keeper of knowledge in its entirety. The Apocrypha is an endless library; I have spent lifetimes of yours here, harvesting the power it offers. Power I have been given access to at a great price." There was something peculiar and foreboding in the way Miraak stated the last part, even with the dull, hard edge of his speech. It was still not what she wanted to hear; it didn't really answer her question.

"So…does that mean you've read all those books? All of them?" Impossible, the Breton thought to herself, such a thing was not doable.

For the first time since Malvina met the dragon-priest, he answered her clearly. "Of course." He said, and to the woman's great amusement, she thought she detected a hint of irritation in his incredibly self-assured voice. "Your impertinence is astonishing, even if you are Dovahkiin." Ha, that was definitely irritation there.

"Are you sure? Every single one of them?" The disbelief felt in her expression was inevitable and to-be-expected; in all honesty, there were a _lot_ of books gathered in that one room.

"You are not worth the trouble of lying to. I could have you killed in the blink of an eye; it would be enough to will it to happen." He sneered, having found her lack of trust in his aptitudes insulting. "You would barely have enough time to scream." She wondered why he suddenly felt the need to bring up the fact that her life was still at his mercy.

She was perfectly aware of _that_, and it had nothing to do with the conversation at hand. Changing the subject so was just plain bad taste.

"Yes, yes, I know, thank you for reminding me. But still… Every historical fact, every adventure narrative and uninspired verse?" Had her body not been in such a horribly awkward state, she would have tried to point to the towering shelves occupied with books- out of which the black ones were mostly unlabelled, much to her confusion.

"Tell me, woman, how many times must I repeat myself until you shall have satisfied your curiosity? Or it there no such happenin-"

"Even the romance tales?" The Last Dragonborn interrupted him, again. There was arrogance in her eyes as she finally looked up to his towering frame; to Mirrak, she wore the expression of a person who assumed too much, too fast.

"All of them." He stated, pleased to have crushed the overconfidence on her face.

For a while, she looked puzzled, almost defeated, and he fed on her dismay. This woman was someone whose ego he found especially satisfying to crush.

"The Sultry Argonian Bard!"

"What?" He couldn't have possibly heard right.

A grin worthy of a Khajiit split her face, perfectly visible even with the cowl shadowing her features. "Have you read even that?"

Had Miraak been a lesser man, he might have sputtered. "I am not obliged to indulge you or your absurd questions!" He snarled instead and felt a headache coming on strongly. Why was he doing this to himself, he wondered? For a brief moment, he entertained the idea of ending the smart-arse's pathetic existence.

"Ah-ha! I knew it! You couldn't have possibly read all these books!"

Her victorious little address, even if her body was completely at his mercy, touched his pride just as accurately and potently as ever.

'_I know you couldn't have read that one!'_ was written all over her face.

The dragon-priest felt the strangest urge to wipe the smugness she showed by telling her otherwise, but even he would have never admitted to such a thing. He refused to say he'd read that blasted book. 'The Sultry Argonian Bard', what a joke! Ridiculous!

"Ellya Erdain is untalented scum. Even _I _could write something like that and make it twice as entertaining."

Malvina squeaked in alarm, having not expected, of all things, to hear that!

Frankly, neither had Miraak.

He had meant the comment to be only for himself –an unwariness born out of an eternity spent in solitude (you never expected being ear-dropped on where there was no one to ear-drop on you)- but watching her face distort the way it did was sufficiently agreeable.

The Last Dragonborn, on her knees and hands before him, was visibly gasping at the indication of his words. A thin smile sketched under his mask, and he watched her from under the safely of the venomous-yellow metal.

"Send her back where she came from, she can await my arrival with the rest of Tamriel." The Seekers moved closer to Malvina, and he carelessly turned to leave.

That caught her interest. "This is going to be unpleasant, I assume?"

"You assume correctly… for once."

Relentlessly, she was blasted with magic from above. There was a long way to Solstheim, and all she could really think about was ways to get her hands on a book wrote by a certain ancient Dragon-Priest.

If such a thing existed, she needed to have it.


	2. Chapter 2

"Correct me if I am wrong"- Hermaeus Mora drawled on in that infuriating speech of his, now more amused than angered, and she supposed it had something to do with the fact that he already had the man that had wronged him (but really how did Daedric Princes even had a gender?) impaled by one of his creepy tentacles-"In exchange for your service, Dragonborn, you would like…only a book." There was a strange thing, to hear a tad of exasperation ooze into that forever-bored voice.

"Yes, that is what I said." Malvina answered, telling herself to contain her excitement, at least until she actually knew she would have the tome in her grasp. Oh, but she _would_ have it, and that was enough of a good news that she could have jumped and shouted in delight.

"You would give up the honour of becoming my protégé…for a book?" She could have scoffed at the disapproval in his tone. Even with his power, the Breton knew that this was the only way she would have a chance of getting her hands on this curiosity was to do this, now. She needed this book, there was no way the woman was letting the opportunity to acquire a unique piece for her collection pass her.

She though she heard Miraak indeed scoff at the question, but one of the Deadric Prince's aspect's sharp ends was still firmly settled into his stomach, so the sound was mostly lost amongst the gurgling sounds and painted gasps that he was letting out. She almost smiled.

"You have promised me knowledge; you have promised me a reward of my own choosing. _This_ is what I want." The air sizzled and the wind changed in what felt a lot like a sigh on a colossal scale, before finally, the hovering mass of eeriness that was Hermaeus Mora calmed down.

"Very well." The world themselves bid her with their magic and she would have needed to be seriously dim-witted not to realize she'd just made an unholy deal with a Deadra. The disturbing power of the entity before her discreetly took over a small portion of her mind. Cheerlessly, Malvina tried not to let her disgust show, but she still shuddered at the coldness that caressed her cruelly.

She really needed to stop doing this, she concluded.

"Now…" The intruding voice murmured, from all around her and from inside as well. "What book is so valuable that you would only obtain it through me?"

Oh, how she had awaited this part, if not for the book itself, then for the reaction her request would deliver. Pretending innocence, she smiled a big, toothy smile that she always saved for special occasions, buying her time. In the corner, the First Dragonborn managed to shot her a dark glare for stretching out his suffering so, and she really had to work hard not to let her devilish intent taint her impeccable mask of serenity.

"Tell me, my Lord, have you power over the tides of time and Fate?" She asked the dark chaos around herself. "Would you be able to give me any book that has ever been written?"

Her eyes turned cunning, and the earth shook in approval. "Yes, I lay claim over every piece of knowledge ever written."

Perfect, she though, and now, here came the grand finale. "And if it hadn't been written yet?"

The air shifted in something like alarm, and it took all her years of being a disciplined, patient thief to keep in the laughter.

"How would you know of a book that had not yet been made?" The Deadra inquired, and she delighted in the disbelief implied by the question. All this time, the Breton tried not to get distracted when a few book fell on the floor due to all the commotion, begging her to look up their titles. If she wanted to actually get what she was promised, she needed to pull this off flawlessly.

"I have been promised it _could_ be made." Her fingers itched even at the thought of it. Again, the wind intensified.

"If that is so, how would my influence come into play?" Oh, did she sense suspicion there? Of course she did.

_Don't grin. Don't grin. Don't grin. Don't be **stupid**._

_Oh, who was she kidding, where was the fun in that?_

"Well, I am going to be frank."

To hell with subtlety, she just wanted her book!

"I wanted to have a book written by your lovely servant, currently dying here." She jagged her thumb in Miraak's general direction. "But every time I asked him for it, he refused to give it to me. I now suspect he had not written any… yet. I want that book, and I believe you could pursue him to write it for me."

The world stilled.

If she had taken the time to have taken off Miraak's mask, she would have witnessed a rare display of bewilderment and horror take over his face. As it was, she could only imagine it.

A few tentacles moved. "You want me to let him… live?" The Keeper of Knowledge did not sound happy, for his voice had lost its mellow quality, but she was unperturbed by it.

The Dragonborn would have her way, whatever all of Oblivion liked it or not. She had not saved Nirn from the return of the World-Eater only to be ignored and played with by a Deadra!

Malvina had few pleasures in life, one of those being reading, and she would allow no dark lord to take that away from her. Slaying dragons was not pleasant, having dead people chant into her head all day long was not pleasant, being dragged between planes and across vast wastelands was not pleasant, being treated like a tool by anyone conceited enough to think her weak was most definitely not pleasant, almost nothing was pleasant about her life.

That being said, she had few pleasures in life, true, but she would _not_ have those denied. It was not often that a book caught her interest, or a person gained her curiosity, as much as Miraak and his imaginary work of literature had.

Yes, she had a fixation, an unhealthy one; she was aware, yes, and entirely happy with it.

"I guess so, in a way." She admitted thoughtfully. "I want him alive for as long as it takes for you to fulfill your part of the deal. I can wait, although I preferred it that I didn't." Something sparkled in her dull eyes, something wicked, and even the Deadric Prince felt consternation at the sight of it.

"Or better yet, why won't you give the stubborn fool to me. Strip him of his powers, if you so wish, give him back his mortality, I could not care less. All I want is for him to write for me."

The giant eye blinked, once, twice, three times, but remained silent.

"I would rather die, than serve for her entertainment!"

It was Malvina's turn to blink, having forgotten about the fact that Miraak was still with them, and surprisingly conscious.

"It shall be done." The black, undulating spike that had made itself so comfortable in the space between the First Dragonborn's heart and stomach retracted suddenly, and the voice of Hermaeus Mora drawled endlessly once again. In what the small mortal could recognize as a show of sadism, powerful black magicka was poured forcefully into the broken body of the Dragon-Priest, mending his injuries while inflicting the maximum amount of pain possible.

The Breton still could not believe that the man had just lit his own pyre like that. Shaking her head, she could not help but feel slightly disappointed that Miraak hadn't realised the plain stupidity of voicing out his animosity towards the idea.

Of course his formal master would agree with whatever brought him agony.

A fully healed, completely drained ancient Dovahkiin was thrown at her feet, and she examined him interestedly. He looked well enough, she supposed, but it was hard to say with all that armour and flowing robes. He could have been missing his head for all she could tell.

"I have chained his power to mine and taken away all that I have gifted him with." The all-too-familiar voice enunciated sluggishly, but there was dark pleasure hidden underneath that. "He will serve you well." Had the Deadra taken the form of man, he would have smirked darkly.

To avoid any unfairness, she did it for him.

"I'm sure he will…"

She ran her hand through her hair, her cowl long since lost into a pool of undetermined blackness during her fight with Miraak; Divines, did it feel like a lifetime ago since that happened. The prick would have to buy her a new one once they get back to Nirn.

The image of the ancient man browsing for gear, for _her_, in his own strange get-up, was enough to have her laughing her arse off right there in the coldness of Apocrypha.

She didn't get the chance; they were falling back to Solstheim before she could even open her mouth.

* * *

Yeah, so I have no idea where I'm going with this, but it's been fun to write until now. :) I have no idea if I should continue it, but anyway…

Ah, about that "lit his own pyre " thing, I don't know, it just felt more appropriate than saying he "dug up his own grave".


	3. Chapter 3

For Miraak, it was a hard coming down to earth, in every way. Face-ugh, mask?- down in the dirt, the former dragon-priest grunted in pain, and Malvina would have found it amusing that Hermaeus Mora literally dropped them out of the sky just to add to his suffering, had she not suffered because of it too.

"Blasted deadra… I'm going to be sore for days." Miraak groaned again, and just for the sake of it she pretended he was agreeing with her. He was probably just cursing, though…

It took a few minutes for the Breton to get back on her feet, but when she did-"What do you say of your great return?" She teased, in a maddening good mood for someone who had been covered in bruises.

He said nothing, which was a bit disappointing, but she refused to let that bother her.

"You 'will not dignify that with a response', or what?" Suspiciously, she approached the man and carefully pocked his left side with her foot; her glass boots were sharp enough that she didn't actually had to try to hurt him. To Malvina's great dismay, additional pain did not give rise to any kind of response form him, and by then she was really starting to wonder if he was dead.

She poked him again, more passionately, just to make sure. Yup, dead as that goat she's passed that other da-"Get away from me, wench!"

Or… maybe not.

"Oh, so you _are_ awake, that's terrific!" Cheerily, she exuberantly grabbed a firm hold of his robes and pilled with all the might of a dragon.

He stumbled to his feet, but not before he spat out something positively vile, and his new master was pleased to note that he did, in fact, possessed a wonderful imagination.

"I doubt a netch even has such a thing!" She laughed, remembering a book she read once about the creatures. "That makes for an interesting mental picture, though, I'll give you that." Her companion snorted rather vulgarly from beneath that irritating mask. He would have to learn quickly that bad manners didn't have much effect on her.

She thought she could act uncharacteristically kind and inform him ahead of time, but was spared from ruining her image by the flurry of a woman that was Frea.

"Dragonborn! Dragonborn, I have finally found you! The evil has been purged, you have fulfilled your -" she stopped short in her track, eyes fierce, posture stiff, and she was armed in a matter of seconds.

Frea, a woman of the Skaal, a skilled warrior, rash and violent like any other Nord, faced with the man that had threatened her life, her tribe and its history; this was the same evil entity who's meddling ultimately lead to the death of the woman's father, one she would not hesitate to kill.

…and Malvina just showed up with said man near Frea's house, holding up his beat body, no less.

She saw it appropriate to admit: she hadn't thought out that part beforehand. Before she said anything, she let go of the ancient Dovahkiin as if he'd just used _Yol_ and succeed into sending him toppling down. There was a satisfying crash that disturbed the silence fallen over the two women.

"The fiend must die!"Frea shouted, voice like a war cry, enraged and undisrupted by the supposed power of the comically spread-out man- really, the Breton could not help but wonder why; what wasn't to fear about a thousand-years-old legend struggling to get himself out of a patch of snow?

"Frea, please, let's talk about this."

"Talk? To what end?" Warily, the Last Dragonborn noticed the inhuman strength with which the other woman gripped her sword. If this went on for long, Malvina was sure the handle would dent.

"You cannot kill him; he must serve his punishment first!"

A hint of uncertainty softer the Skaal's expression; the shorter woman, who have been preparing for a fight, concealed a sigh of relieve.

"A punishment then…Very well…. But I would get him far away from here if I were you; he brings about much hate and troubles." For the first time in all the time she'd known her, Frea had actually advised delicacy. Malvina was impressed.

"Don't worry, I will."

And that she did.

* * *

The Retching Netch was just as one would expect an inn to be in the sad, wild scenery of Solstheim. That didn't make it all that different from the inns of Skyrim, though, having in common an absolute lack of decorative tastes, the mandatory half clean gasses and dusty floors. The sand and the Dunmers' distrusting, angry glowers were what added to the appeal of the place.

"Give me a room, two beds. If both of them are sturdy and free of bugs I'll make it worth your while in the morning." Shamelessly, she played with a small ruby she always kept hidden in her belt, just for such occasions.

"Here's the key. Say, who's your buddy there, his clothing seems familiar."

Silently, Miraak tensed. Malvina noticed and happily waved away the comment.

"You know those fanatics that tried to kill me a while back? Oh, why am I even asking, of course you do! Long story short, I convinced him to quit. Trust me, slaying dragons is a much safer pastime than angering me. " The innkeeper quite bluntly stared, and the woman stifled a laugh. Now, _this_ would make him think better before questioning the mighty Dragonborn again. She so hated useless small-chat.

"R-R-Right. The door is to your right."

Oh, how nice, she'd made him stutter. She took the key with a grin.

* * *

"What is this?"

"A bed, what else?"

"A bed?"

"Yes, a bed, you know…people sleep in it. Don't tell me you forgot all about that part. Do you do that often?" If the Deadra did something to his mind to turn him into a clueless whelp-"Of course I remember!" Agitatedly, he stared to pace the small room.

Well that was inconvenient, how was she to know if she'd struck a chord if she couldn't see his face? She absolutely needed to have him get rid of that mask. Malvina just hopped that black, moving…corruption didn't make him too ugly; she'd hate to have his face distract her from her killing. But that, she knew, was a problem she could deal with later.

"This… deformity is not a bed; it is a pile of rotten straws standing on what may have been wood a lifetime ago." The man complained, and she just had to smile at the indignation in his voice.

"Well, excuse me, did I forgot to mention this is an inn bed? What did you expect?" He'd been cut off from simple reality for too long if he didn't seize the difference. "And why do you care if the conditions are deplorable? It's still better that in the wildness; I could have made you sleep on sand if I'd wanted, so quit your whining." She rolled her eyes skywards and swiftly made it for the chest in the corner of the small chamber. There were four pieces of gold hid in its clefts, not to mention some plain peasant clothes and a barmaid dress, a bit too colourful for the Breton's tastes.

She studied the rest of the space with a cynical eye, pausing only shortly to browse through a few tomes laying around. Hmm, The Reclamations and the Red Year, she still hadn't finished the latest, perhaps her night wouldn't be wasted after all. Distractedly, she made a circular motion with her hand in Miraak's direction and the man stilled, tense, and waited for her word.

Calmly, she skimmed through the books around her and those she had collected throughout the two days journey towards Raven Rock. The ones she'd 'borrowed' from Apocrypha were carefully packed in her travelling bag, and she would only study fully once she would be back in Solitude. "Do be a dear and take of that mask of yours, I need to know how you look like, should I ever find myself in need to hunt you down." His reaction was predictable.

"Absurd! I refuse to do such a thing. This mask is no simple mask, this is _Miraak_, and it is my name and my fate!"

Divines, did he like to vent! "Yes. Yes, I'm sure you'd love to tell me all about that… But by Dibella, would you just stop and take of that mask and armour. I doubt you could sleep in them anyway." Only a second later, something else occurred to the thief. "And how will you eat without taking it off? I don't know how things worked in Hermaeus Mora's realm, but here things like eating are important, mandatory even." She put down her volume, and turned fully, gaze expecting, to witness the baring of the man's face.

"I'm waiting."

"You know, mortal-"

"You're mortal too, now."

"- I sometimes feel like you have been created especially for my suffering."

"Quit stalling."

He grunted.

As it turned out, he was a Nord, and his human appearance hadn't been tainted by the dark magicka that surrounded him for centuries. It was good to know no monstrous deformity would distract her on her quests, and even more so to have some of her curiosity surrounding the man sated.

All she needed now was to get his a quill and some paper.

* * *

Make sure to point out any mistakes, since I wrote this late at night and I don't trust myself to make sense. I figure I'll probably post another chapter or two, maybe three, and I'll finish this, but you never know, I feel like this has so much potential! :)

As if he'd used Yol= as if he'd burnt her; but I guess that was pretty easy to figure out.


	4. Chapter 4

And… again I haven't had time to proofread, so I hope I'm not just embarrassing myself with this :)). Anyhow, sorry for the delayed update (I meant to update one every 2 weeks, and they've been 18 days of so), but I had a busy agenda lately. Well, I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint much. I think it's alright. Enjoy!

* * *

The very next morning, Malvina visited the merchants, and she found that she was more gleeful that usually. There were a few simple reasons behind that.

First of all, she'd succeeded to convince Miraak to keep his mask off for the trip- by hiding it in her pack, but she still _did_ it.

…and second of all because by doing so she managed to experience the full satisfaction(expressions and all) that came with bothering the man. She wasn't ashamed that she'd planned to assign nearly all her day to secretly studying her new servant- oh, and how he hated it when she called him that. She constantly grinned at the thought.

The Breton had to say, first and foremost, the First Dragonborn was a fine source of entertaining.

She admitted there was a good amount of sadistic pleasure she could get from simply watching the rage and desolation in his grimaces; and the glints in those dark, narrowed eyes. That was once she deciphered their meaning. It was hard to make out much in them at first, since there were solid shapes of pure black, but once she got over her initial surprise, it was definitely worth the effort. He was as expressive as a ruffled dragon.

Miraak's hair was also unnaturally black- the persisting colour a side-effect of spending so much time near magic-infused tar, perhaps?- and that made it hard to keep an eye on it amongst the greys and faded colours of a Dunmer city, but his sickly pale skin wasn't, so she allowed the bitter man to go explore the world he'd once been willing to betray his former master for. She had felt very generous that day, and because of that she'd briefly wondered if she came down with an illness.

It only took a quick healing spell for the Breton to sadly discovered that kindness _wasn't_ sometimes she could actually prevent all the time.

Oh, bugger…

* * *

Fethis Alorwas was one of those persons that just couldn't set aside their curiosity. As many would agree, it wasn't a cautious trait to possess in Skyrim, let alone Solstheim. "Say, Dragonborn, what's with the new follower?" It was almost expected he would pick the worst possible person to question for the day. Malvina wasn't browsing his goods because she wanted to talk, gods damn it; couldn't he have just ignored her, like she ignored him? Would it have killed him if he did?- because not doing it may do just that.

She stared at him, displeased. With nothing to cover her face, the hint should have been pretty easy to pick on.

"He seems ready to kill something…." …or maybe not. She took a big, slow breath, telling herself she really needed not to get thrown out of the city for murdering anyone, not with just a few days before Gjolund Salt–Sage and his crew set sail for Skyrim. She could murder people once she got back home, since those there wouldn't dare complain about it.

"And what happened with that pale woman you were with last time?" Was it mandatory that he wasted her time with useless questions? "Was she ill? Did she die?"

Her lips thinned. It was official; merchants simply lacked any instincts of self-preservation.

"I fail to see how that's any of your business."

The man recoiled at the hardness in the Breton's voice. "I was only asking, no need to be so sour about it." The thief almost laughed. Why couldn't people get it that she'd killed men for less?

"Just give me that necklace and get back to your mumbling, will you?"

"Hmm, here you go, tetchy human." The last part was murmured under his breath, but she still heard it. That Dunmer would never know how close he'd been to meeting his brutal end that exact moment. She was just one small step away from poisoning his food, carelessly put on display before her. A word more and she would have considered summoning a dragon.

"Woman, come here, I require your assistance." Alright, so it was Miraak who unintentionally prevented Malvina from doing something very, very stupid, not her self-restrain, but that did not meant she couldn't take credit for it.

"What do you want?" She might have snapped at the man, but she was fully entitled to do so, technically. Then again, the finer details concerning any deals with Daedras were always unclear. Those sneaky bastards were specialised in that by now, a few millenniums of treachery were enough of a specialisation period for anyone. It took even _her_ less than a year to become an adept in blocking, and Oblivion knew she had a hard time handling heavy objects.

"Will you stop daydreaming about your boots and help me get this over with, already!?"

By Mara, someone was having a bad day. "And what's your problem?"- besides the fact she'd snapped at him and then shamelessly ignored him, of course. "Did Glover try to rip you off?" She may have asked a bit too unsympathetically.

"Would you just, for once, stop making thoughtless assumptions?" The former dragon-priest growled, and it was striking how freakishly white and sharp his teeth looked to be. The Breton had to say, she kind of liked it, he looked just as fierce as he could be, even without his mask. It made it all that more satisfying when she decided to remind him of her power and influence over him, and that she did as often as she had the chance.

"Well, what is it then? I thought I asked you to buy me something from the smith." She clicked her tongue in disappointment. "You can follow orders, can't you?" By the time the words left her mouth, it was already challenging to hide her impish smile. It was strange, she usually had much better control over her maniacal outbursts.

Miraak's face contorted in something that looked almost like despair, or maybe agony. His mouth was set deep into a frown, his unholy eyes narrowed and seemed to glow, and his nostrils flared dangerously. What she liked most about his unmasked self was noting how quickly his expression changes. He had very expressive, volatile features. It didn't take long before the agony melted into a familiar expression of anger and haughtiness.

"Oh, will you just stop with this ego-centric display of misplaced superiority and shut it? You are in no position to patronize me, not when you have so blindly condemned yourself to walking the same path that ruined me." His voice could be so demanding, she had to struggle not to flinch. If he was to keep up with the delightedly self-assured rants she was sure she would _never_ come to regret making that bargain with Hermaeus Mora.

Heh…

…No, truly this time; she meant it.

Of all the Daedric Princes, this one had to be the first one to find her weak spot: a thirst not for knowledge per say, but for the thrill projected by the unknown; that was why he knew just what to give her in return for a part of her soul.

If there was something she fundamentally liked, it was exploring and discovering. The prospect of a mystery chest was more tempting than any jewel. The uncertain promise of immense wealth was so much more exciting than a boring pile of gold.

In the spark that lit Miraak's eyes, Malvina saw potential; and that… that was exhilarating.

Too bad that the man only ever really saw red….

At the very moment she returned from her contemplations, he was scowling. "Are you even listening, scum?" Alright, now he was crossing the line. The man needed to do something about that big mouth of his.

"KAAN DREM OV!"

"What the- a-a-agh…."

"Have you calmed down now?"

"Did you just-" He stopped for a second, disbelieve colouring his face. "-did you just use Kyne's Peace on me, like I'm some kind of undomesticated animal?" Oh-oh, now he was mad again. He was like that an excessive amount of time, Malvina noticed. The woman wondered if she should have been surprised, because she wasn't.

"Yes, that I did."

He sputtered something absolutely awful under his breath, like it was his custom, and she just had to laugh. Never mind that the whole market was watching them by then.

He growled, and while the sound was skin-crawling and appropriately dragon-like, she could not help but compare him with something alike a petulant child. "I am not your pet, nor am I your toy!"

She tried to silence her laughter enough to answer him. "Of course you are, is your memory really that bad?" Her tone was cheekier that she usually allowed it to be, but it mattered little. Miraak was not in her company by choice- not that many ever were- and he would therefore be forced to put up with it.

"Can you even breathe properly when in such a state?" That was not concern or curiosity that painted his question, but she wasn't perturbed by it. There have been ages since she'd laughed so freely, and by Dibella she was going to enjoy it while it lasted.

It didn't last that long, she couldn't let Miraal of all persons think she didn't have a comeback for his ill-meant questions. "You're praying I'll pass out and die, aren't you?" She inhaled deeply and straightened her back, rising from her slightly hunched position with a wayward smile. "Sorry to disappoint; but I'm not easy to get rid of." She almost- _almost_- gave in into the urge to wink.  
"That I've noticed." He admitted, sulkily. "Now stop acting like a fool and come help me choose the colour of your new hood."

Now, that was not something she'd been prepared to hear. The way he said it betrayed so much defeat it was ridiculous. Ridiculously hilarious, she meant.

"That was what you couldn't figure out for yourself? What colour my hood should be?" Malvina snored, in a state of perpetual amusement. "Fine then, I'll come. And after that we can finally go looking for ink and paper."

She could have very well said they should go sacrifice a mammoth to Namira, for the reaction it evoked in the ancient man. Suddenly paler that usual, eyes widened and lips pursed, he looked like a prisoner finding out his execution date.

Well, well, well… The fun was just about to begin.

She refused to acknowledge the predatory smirk on her lips, and so did Miraak.


	5. Chapter 5

The room was awfully silent, and it was getting on her nerves. Impatiently, she put down the book she had buried her gaze behind for the day and moved her hand in Miraak's direction, flicking her wrist. The First Dragonborn lifted an eyebrow, but said nothing. Would it have killed him to say something? She so hated silence- to such an extent that even human voices were welcome, and she strongly hated most people-, this hate was one of the reasons she never spent much time with the Dark Brotherhood, aside from Cicero's obvious craziness. Expectedly, and a bit irritated, she opened her mouth. "Well?"

"Well, what?" His sneer was painfully rude, and his voice almost spiteful enough for her to recoil from the ferocity of it. Good thing she was made out of tougher stuff than most.

Malvina frowned in return to the man's gesture and readied herself to teach him a lesson; he thought he was so superior, didn't he? She'd show him superiority complex- she'd learned everything about that from that annoying Altmer living in Markarth's Understone Keep.

"Oh, my poor pet is having a fit." She sweetened her tone in such a way even _she_ had a hard time hearing herself without making a face. The restrain was more than worth the effort, though, if only for the repulsion that bloomed in Miraak's eyes. Calmly, a victorious smile hidden by the shadows cast by her new hood in the pale afternoon light, she stretched her arms over her head and proceeded to crack her neck. "You know very well what you've been doing for the past hour or so, so don't you dare make that face at me." Her nonchalance startled the man, enough for him to watch her carefully. Perhaps he had finally learnt that she was not one easily intimidated.

"And what exactly have I been doing?" He asked sharply, but more guarded than before. Divines, it was so rewarding to see him backing away in front of her, of all people. It must have been hard on Miraak to know himself at the hand of a small Breton woman, hundreds of years younger than himself.

"You've been stalling, like always. Get over yourself and start writing already, that's what you're here to do, after all." Malvina promptly lifted her chin and looked at him down her nose, eyes narrowed. "You're lucky I have such a sick imagination, Nord, else you'd be dead now." She'd made a good Ondolemar impression, if she was to say so herself. Mentally, she allowed herself to snicker.

Miraak groaned, angered and defeated, for despite his resistance he knew she was the one making the rules. Hermaeus Mora really was a sick bastard for allowing this to happen. Still, that wasn't going to stop her from getting what was rightfully hers, and enjoying herself while doing so. She wanted that book, and she wanted it bad. From the moment she'd first thought of it, everything else she'd waited to read had lost its appeal, and there was no greater tragedy on Nirn than to have nothing worth reading.

"I am not stalling. I was merely… thinking, constructing and rearranging phrases in my head." If she hadn't knew better, she'd say he was sulking.

"You're convincing no one." She laughed and looked back to her book, but eventually let go of it, with some reluctance, and went to Miraak's side. Looking over his shoulder, Malvina was unsurprised to see that he had written nothing.

"Come on, I'm waiting." Expectedly, she moved to lean her hip against the miserable-looking table, and from there she had a perfect view to watch all the man's movements.

The former Dragon Pries' lips thinned and his eerie black eyes focused grudgingly onto the fine parchment lain out before him, an ink-dripped feather held tightly in his right hand. She'd bought him the best-quality materials she could found, and plenty of them. The Breton studied him in anticipation, hazel eyes fixed on his hand. He wasn't moving it.

She scoffed, that was simply unacceptable.

"What's the matter? Where's your literary genius? I was promised a book!" -and if she had sold a part of her immortal soul for naught she was going to make people pay –mostly the unfortunate, relatively innocent folks nearby, since those responsible were hard to get to, but still, she would do enough damage that Alduin himself would approve of her. What could she say; she had her ways of pleasing even the toughest crowds.

Solemnly, brows furrowed and chin pushed forward stubbornly, he glared at her. It was quite impressive; Malvina would have given him that, had he not ruined her good mood with his very next words. "I won't do it." He sounded so deadpan, the woman wanted to shout him over a mountain slope and feed his remains to a conjured wolf, _after_ putting his soul in a black soulgem. Too bad they weren't any mountains around, and she still wanted that book…

"Tell me Miraak…"For the first time since she'd met him, she addressed him by his name, and she did not sound pleased. "Are you really daft? Because you say pretty daft things once in a while." He really did, or else he wouldn't have been in this situation in the first place.

"You insolen-"She grinned aggressively, her glare sharpened and the corners of her eyes pulled back.

"See, you're doing it now." Miraak smiled passively, but his response was palpably caustic.

"Your threats do not scare me." He uttered surely, and it annoyed the woman to no end. Her hand twitched over her hip; a reminder to herself that there was no need to draw her weapon just yet, but that the blade was there and ready to serve.

"Would it help if I turned into a werewolf? Would that make you fear the woman that practically owns you?" It was hard to keep her voice from overflowing with exasperation, but she disguised the shameful outburst of emotion behind a thick coating of sarcasm. Malvina absolutely refused to let the First Dragonborn know he had frustrated her so much. The cocky bastard would probably dare feel important for succeeding to get under her skin. Divines prevent that the man ever thought he had any power over her.

As if reading her thoughts, Miraak let out a wheezing breath, amused. "I thought I'd smelled dog on you. Now I know why." He had the nerve to smirk, eyes glinting darkly, and against all that she stood for, she found her face heat up at such a show of impertinence. Oh, but this bound dragon could still bite; she was unsure how she should feel about that.

It just about reminded her of her wild childhood tendencies. She briefly wondered if it would bother him to know that, but decided it wasn't worth the trouble of finding out.

"Stop that this instance, you are obliged to serve me and you will do so." Malvina scowled darkly, ready to use force if necessary.

"I absolutely refuse to do such a thing. I am not a pet!" She swore her whole body tensed after hearing that. The man was impossible. The Breton swiftly calmed herself down and put on a grin. She would make use of all her wit to make sure he would listen to her, even if it was the last thing he did.

"I will ask you one more time, calmly, to get to work. I would hate to have to strike you down when you have been stripped of much of your power; defeating you in combat was easy enough even when you were at your best."

That jab hit him with ruthless efficiency. It showed; his unmasked face betrayed his anger, surprise and humiliation. It was a bit pitiful, but she was not moved by the display, his ego needed to be brought down a notch.

Other than that, well, he'd asked for it.

"What's the matter? Nothing to protest about now?" To her joy, he only pursed his lips. "I though so."

"You may enjoy your victory now, but you are nothing more than a spiteful witch." Oh, he was so going to pay for that later, after that damned book was finished. He was a bit amusing when he spilled his venom, though, so Malvina could not find the energy to get mad at him just then. She would save that for a special occasion.

She smiled toothily and stretched her arms again with a fastidiousness that told she knew exactly what she was doing. When her gaze stopped on him, it was filled to the brink with a strange, terrifying fire.

"Oh, don't tell me you cannot do it! You cannot write a simple book? You, the former protégé of the Keeper of Knowledge?" She sighed dramatically, never taking her eyes off the strain in his jaw. "After all that bragging of yours…" She shook her head, feigning disappointment.

The tension in his jaw snapped, and like expected, he played right into her trap.

"You and your thoughtless assumptions! Of course I can, woman! I am Miraak, and do not speak nonsense."

She laughed and stared him down.

"Prove it."

Her only response was an inhuman growl and the rustle of paper being thrown aside. It was good to be the Last Dragonborn, things always worked out like planned.

* * *

Alright, so, I updated in 9 days, I'm proud of myself….sort of… I don't particularly like this chapter, but hopefully it's not too bad. Thanks everyone for the reviews and hope you'll enjoy more of Miraak's ill-disposition in the future! ;)


	6. Chapter 6

"You want me to do what!?"

The Breton covered her ears, taken aback by the sudden outburst. Divines, the way he'd reacted you'd have said she'd asked him to dance naked on a shrine.

Gingerly, Malvina repeated herself, mindful not to let any hint of jest give away her mischievous intent. "Entertain me." She instructed.

Miraak scowled, an eyebrow raised in mock disbelieve at her audacity. With the kind of confidence she'd seen lack in many Jarls in Skyrim, he stared her down, daring her to interrupt him further with her unreasonable requests.

"What do you think I'm doing, woman?" The First Dragonborn's tone denoted genuine exasperation; he motioned around himself impatiently, at the impressive number of paper sheets-mostly scribbled- that were laid carelessly on the wooden table and at his feet.

"I have ink under my fingernails and pains in my back. My wrist is nearly broken and my patience is at an end, all because you impossible, native noisiness and you inability to stay out of my way! You've allowed me no mercy, going to great extents to deny me peace. I could have been happily dead had you not went and started making bargains with a Daedra Prince!" By the end of his rant, he was breathing heavily, and she briefly wondered if he was used to speaking so often and so much or if it was simply an adverse reaction to her person. Either way, she found it was her turn to erupt. His hypocrisy was unbelievable!

"How dare you make yourself look like a victim! You, of all people! You have been the one sending assassins after me, stalking me, stealing my dragon souls from me, trying to enslave me and then kill me!" She raised her voice, surprising Miraak and herself both. After the few seconds it took her to regaining her senses, she had a though that maybe the hostility wasn't just Malvina having an effect on him, but rather an explosive reaction to each other. Perhaps, she deliberated, it had something to do with their almost-feral blood; dragons were not peaceful by design.

"I am writing you a book, what more do you want from me?" He exclaimed and dragged his hand over his face; by doing so, he exposed the red in his eyes and she caught a glimpse of his exhaustion.

Hm, as if she was going to pity him! Yeah, _right_, she told herself, she was _heartless_.

"Well, you refuse to let me see anything!"

He made a sudden movement her way and something was soon flying through the air directed at her head. Briefly, she started wondering if she had _actually_ taken care of all sharp objects in the room; she'd though she did that after settling in, but she was starting to question her safely.

With all her distracting worries, she was a bit caught unguarded by the small white object that hit her left cheek. It bounced off of her face -after making the Breton jump in alarm- and fell down at the woman's feet, having have made pathetically little damage.  
Dumbly, the Last Dragonborn stared at the curious projective. A crumbled ball of paper? What was the idea?

She instinctively rubbed her cheek, even if there was no pain from the impact.

"Now stop bothering me!"- she heard Miraak mutter softly under his breath, and it caught her attention. Curiously, she picked up the paper, smoothed it out and eyed its content distrustfully. Small, black (harmless) letters invaded her vision.

Oh, so he hadn't been trying to kill her after all!

Miraak blankly stared at the Breton who served as his tormentor. "There, you can settled for that. I it merely a draft, a small fragment, but it should serve to distract you well enough. It will entertain you far better than any of my grimaces."

Malvina laughed quietly, her mouth readily setting into an excited grin. Eager to sate her now emerging curiosity, she turned her attention back to the fragment in her gloved hands, pupil dilated in anticipation.

_"On the table, close to her milky-pale-"_

Before she was able to read anything more, her companion spoke up again. "Dovahkiin-" he drawled. "I would advise you to wait." His voice had that smooth, self-assured quality that first fuelled her need to crush- to _destroy_, **hurt**, **_defeat_**- him. She couldn't have been blamed for her desire to completely beat the man into submission; there was a strange, violent person hidden behind her so-very-small frame, and that person had the mentality of the territorial beasts that she shared blood with.

First, he'd dared threaten her world, and at that very moment he was interrupting her from her lecture; there was no clearer invitation to war!

She vaguely remembered how the former Dragon Priest hadn't even had the decency to apologize for his dragons destroying her armour, or to thank her for saving his petty life! For these insults, The Last Dragonborn refused to show mercy!

"Wait? What for? I've done my share of waiting!" She declared, annoyed. " …all those weeks I chased you, following the trail of destruction you left behind in your mad quest, wandering in circles in search for a book that had not yet been written!" The thief shook her head and rolled her eyes towards the ceiling.

"Have you ever even _considered_ telling me about that last part? To spare me the trouble of hunting for something inexistent?"

Miraak looked at her as if she was either slow or out of her right mind. "I am sorry if I have forgotten to take your convenience into account when I planned your death." He mocked her, and Malvina bristle up at the sarcasm and even- dare she presume- dark amusement in his tone. He was such a prick, the woman mused to herself, and she was about to voice her belief, had Miraak not decided he was not done talking.

"What I intended to say earlier- before you so rudely started commenting, was that it's best for you that you read that in private." The way he pronounced that last word was intriguing, to say the least, almost like a well-meant warning, but filled with too much dark, hidden anticipation to fit into that category. For some strange reasons, she felt he sounded overly-pleased.

The man couldn't have been serious, Malvina decided, he was too set against her to actually give her good advice. Adding to this the fact that actually heeding his words would have only inflated that ego of his, she decided upon the most sensible option possible.

"I refuse to listen to you!"

That sounded just about right, she thought happily.

Decisively, she pulled herself a chair and promptly sat down. The paper she still held tightly in between her fingers was carefully laid on her leg, and she started reading.

She found, shortly after she did so, that perhaps Miraak had been uncharacteristically selfless when he'd offered her the option of going away to read his work.

Her eyes fixed the words, transfixed, and her hands grew clammy, her entire being uncomfortably warm and restless. She would never admit it aloud, but the ancient Dragonborn was actually a very good writer, and had certain way of descripting things that was of absurd good quality, considering the theme and action of the story- not that she was very aware of any plot being present.

At the sight of the hot blush that have taken over her cheeks and the hitching of her breath, the First smirked wickedly.

"What's the matter, Dragonborn? Are you sick? Your face it awfully red." There was undeniable laughter in Miraak's black, unstable eyes, and his smile was one that revealed he took a dark pleasure in making her squirm, much like she herself have done before. The expression of complete satisfaction on his face, with his sharp, corrupted features, was enough to make the hairs on her arm stand on end.

She found she had many reasons to feel embarrassed and even more so to get out of the smug bastard's proximity. She considered, only for a second, shouting him across the room and blaming it on a mysterious cold, only a sneeze, no blame of hers her throat was infused with unbelievable potent power. She restrain from doing so, if only for the bounty the city would put on her head for the damage.

Malvina cursed, shoved herself out of her chair and angrily stomped her way outside the suddenly stifling inn room.

The nerve! He'd done it on purpose! That wasn't how it was supposed to happen; he wasn't supposed to affect her so visibly only by doing what he was told. The infuriating man had found a way to have an advantage over her simply by using his ability to write. It just wasn't fair that books were one of her only weaknesses, really.

She frowned, if he was going to keep up with that she would have to note to hunt down The Keeper of Knowledge and rip off some of those stupid tentacles of his.

"Damn, I've been ripped off so badly." Resignedly, she sighed. At least she'd get a book out of it, she hopped.

Studying her surroundings, the Breton pulled out the spill of paper that had got her in her predicament, guiltily scanning it from under her hood, which sat askewer on her braided hair.

"Might as well make the best of it." She whispered, eyes hungrily taking in the bold ink characters.

* * *

Somewhere far away, Hermaeus Mora shook his giant eye in disbelieve, but watched on nevertheless.


	7. Chapter 7

Well, this is the longest chapter yet, and it only took my 9 days to finish (not really). While it's not as humorous as I've wanted it to be, I'm still pleased with it, and I hope so will you. Enjoy!

* * *

It was two days before their planned departing for Windhelm that they heard news of a dragon attacking wildlife near Coldcinder Cave. The beast was said to be ominous, with dark fangs and blood-red eyes, its roar a sound that lived on in nightmares worse than those of born out of Vaermina's cruel delight. The stories put fear in minds of the people of Raven Rock, and caught Malvina's interest. It was a shame she could not risk missing the ship going to Skyrim, or else she would have liked to test her Thu'um against the monster.

Alright, so those were lies, well-told, explicit lies.

First of all, there was no wildlife near that old cave, except maybe an Ash Hopper or two -not that there was much of anything alive anywhere in Solstheim- and no self-respected dragon would have attached Ash Hoppers, no matter how deranged. Second of all, as anyone who'd had the pleasure of sampling Vaermina's particular sense of humour could tell, there was no way anything with just _one_ row of teeth could ever compare to it. Other than that, there was the simple knowledge that dragons stopped catching Malvina's interest a long, long time.

At one of the tables inside The Retching Netch, dispassionately shoving some Horker and Ash Yam Stew down her throat, the Last Dragonborn paid no notice to the urgent whispers shared between the Dunmer. Passingly, she wondered if drinking some Sujamma to chase her boredom away would be worth wasting a night she would otherwise spend reading. The Breton was still considering it when, out of nowhere- but more accurately from her left side-, Miraak pulled back a chair and sat at her table.

Drovas Relvi was quick to get to his feet, and even quicker to reach her companion and ask him what he wanted to order form the kitchen. There was still that sparkle of distrust in the darkelf's eyes that had nothing to do with the fact they were outsiders and everything to do with the fact that Miraak's voice had played with his mind and controlled his body for months. Malvina could have wagered that the man hadn't visited the Earth Stone since _that_ incident was over.

"What should I get you, sir?" He asked the newly-seated man, swallowing nervously.

Malvina chuckled at the formalities.

"Found anything amusing, Breton?" She waved away her companion's comment and turned towards the dunmer."You can ask me that, if you like; I'm the one paying, after all." She made a show of ignoring the sour look sent in her direction.

Drovas Relvi's eye grew large, and he fearfully looked between the two menacing figures she and Miraak made. The formal Dragon Priest was left glowering, as per usual, after once again being reminded of his new limitation, and that alone would have been enough to send most people running; but added to that were the dark bangs under his equally dark eyes and the stubble he'd gotten from days spent writing. In her Guild Master's Armor Set, eyes hidden once again by a hood and gloved hands playing with one of her knifes, Malvina wasn't a sight that inspired trust, either. She couldn't really blame the elf for his anxiety.

From a distance, they looked like just the type of characters whose rooms innkeepers liked to check twice before letting them out the door. She found the image amusing.

When Miraak made no actual movement to protest to her suggestion, the woman decided to order for him. Carelessly, she started carving something into the wood of the table, mindless of the alarm blooming onto their waiter's face. "Since you don't have anything eatable here, you'll just have to settle for the house speciality." She said, directing the tip of her small weapon in Miraak's direction; just in case he started getting the idea she was actually talking to the table and not to him- the look on unease on his face was a nice bonus she received for her thoughtfulness (not that he understood why the fact she was pointing something shard at his face was unsettling, she could have killed his with her voice alone). "In other words, bring him what you brought me, and this time, please make it _not_ taste like dirt." Malvina instructed, waving the scared worker away quickly.

As soon as he was gone, she pushed the bottle of Sujamma to her fellow Dovahkiin, not because she was nice, generous or –gods forbid- compassionate, but because that way she wouldn't be tempted to make a fool out of herself that evening. Surprisingly yielding, although he lifted one of his eyebrows in incredulity, Miraak accepted the drink. He swallowed some of it quickly and didn't even cringe at the taste. Malvina noted to herself never to challenge the man to a drinking contest.

It was Miraak's sneer that made her lift her head from her small engraving project, some time after. "Why are those simpletons getting so worked up about around here? They're even more pathetic than usually."

She looked at him blankly, and spoke with painful boredom in her voice. "Supposedly there's a dragon reaping chaos nearby, and it's heading for the city." The man's eyes narrowed in interest.

"Indeed?" He asked in that levelled voice of his, and it made the Breton wonder how it would be to make him read something to her in the near future. Hmm, Chance's Folly, or even The Aetherium Wars would sound wonderfu- "And what are your plans?" The same voice she was contemplating about cut her idea short.

Startled, the woman dropped her hands away from the table and put away her knife before she destroyed something with it- something that wasn't the table in question, of course; she'd already ruined that. "Plans?" Malvina repeated, stalling for time. Once she got his meaning, she frowned, perplexed. "What do you mean by that? I'm not going to do anything about it!" She looked at his with an expression that told him she'd expected him to know that for the start.

Miraak's eyebrow lifted ever higher on his forehead. "This city's fate is of no interest to you?" He already knew the answer to that, yet he gracefully took the chance to talk down on her. "I was told you took to the way of the hero, Dovahkiin. It seems you are nothing but a selfish, indifferent mortal, after all." For someone who had embraced his violent nature so well, the man was surprisingly Imperial-like in the way he extorted revenge. The way he found means to express his resentment in everything he did remembered her of a noble woman she'd met in her adolescence.

The thief didn't exactly have anything against the way he descripted her-the image was actually not very farfetched-, but that did not mean Malvina was going to let him speak like that to her. He was, first of all, Miraak; he might have spoken the truth, but she wasn't about to treat him fair just because of that.

Putting on an affronted front, the woman crossed her arms over her chest and straightened her back. "I am doing them a favour. They need to realise I'm not going to stay here and take care of their bloody problems, so they can get on with it and start thinking of ways to protect themselves in the future." She declared proudly, voice only slightly muffled by the noise around them.

The First Dragonborn grunted, accepting the explanation without much spite. Malvina had to congratulate herself -not for the first time- for her ability to make up things on the spot. Pleased with the man's reaction, she relaxed back into her chair and, knowing very well that Miraak would not be able to see it, allowed herself a small, victorious grin, eyes already closed in satisfaction.

"Still-" He began again, ever persistent, and she opened one eye to peek at him. "I'd say you're missing a great opportunity by refusing to fight such a worthy opponent. Or are you nor aware, perhaps, that the amount of ancient knowledge a soul is able to possess it measured by the strength of its possessor?" He rasped, and by the time he finished speaking she was watching him intensely, face angled his way in interest she did not try to hide.

"I've always assumed, of course…" She admitted quietly, forgetting herself, but quickly paused. Realising she was giving away information to the enemy, the Breton took a slow breath, and shortly after she felt like herself again. "Well of course I knew. It's not like I need power right now, though, and I'd hate to miss my only way of getting home because of a petty soul." Lauder and surer, she let her voice carry over the whispers of the troubled Dunmer. Some stopped, some stared, and some pointedly looked at anything but the strange, alien couple seated but a few tables away.

"Such a foolish thought; you can never have enough power." He muttered, much more restrained.

Did he…Did she imagine it, or did he actually sounded disappointment, maybe even insulted, at the notion of such thing coming from her? That was certainly something to consider; if Miraak honestly though that she was wasting a chance to obtain a powerful soul, that she needed to give the mater some more though. Biting her lower lip in frustration, Malvina turned her face so that her hood covered her eyes. Blast that man, he was making her want to go slay that dragon, and that was more than annoying. It really wasn't the time or place to go around changing her mind all of a sudden! There were only two days before that ship would set sail.

"Considering you haven't collected any dragon souls while in Solstheim, you might find you have reasons to slay the Dovah anyway."

The Breton frowned, but silently admitted he was right, _again_. Dibella, what was wrong with the man that day? She sighed and went back to her carving.

Resentfully, digging into the wood with more force than necessary, she had a though to confront him about how he'd been the one sealing all her souls from her. Yes, she hadn't acquired any new souls in a few months, and that was entirely his fault. It didn't really seem practical to bring that up, though; it was already too late for that.

She'd already seen his point.

Having made up her mind, she stabbed the knife into the table one last time and vaguely registered how wide the innkeeper's eyes got at the sight. Malvina promised herself she'd pay for the damage later that night and got to her feet.

"Come one Nord, we've got something to kill."

The woman tried not to let the delight in his eyes bother her too much.

* * *

Getting herself out of the fire's range, she viciously swore.

Curse him to Oblivion and beyond, he'd knew exactly what he'd been doing, hadn't he?

"Miraak, I'm- ah!" She yelled, clearly vexed, and then stopped absurdly to battle away the huge, scaly head and massive, sharp teeth heading her way. Viciously digging the heels of her boots in one of its nostrils, the woman tried to get the beast to let go of her pack, which was caught quite comically in its teeth. The dragon pushed her away with a pained roar and spitted her belonging, no doubt making a mess of all the potions she had stored there.

Malvina cursed again, if the bottles broke, her books would be ruined. "Miraak, I'm going to make you wish you died, you bastard!" By the Eight, how she wanted to make him pay for this.

She hear the man laugh darkly not too far away, where he sat quite comfortably surrounded by one of his magical shields, out of the dragon's sight. "It won't be very effective, I'm afraid. You've already did that." Condescendingly, he took his time answering her, stretching out the words.

The Breton was thrown in the air before she had the chance to elaborate on the many forms of torture she had planned for him, and it was just about then that she finally lost her temper. As soon as she hit the ground, she focused all her anger on the irritating reptile that had interrupted her.

"JOOR ZAH FRUL!" Her Thu'um projected strongly, targeting the dragon with cruel precision, and Malvina smiled at the muffed sound of hopelessness that escaped it when it was unable to fly away.

Of course Miraak would not help her, she ranted angrily to herself, and attacked the black beast with her blades. Of course he would let her become a target for the dragon and leave her to face it by herself! She had forgotten how vulnerable she was if she had no one to distract the target while she made good work of her bow and shouted it into submission.

Miraak had known; he'd realised before she did how hard it would be for her- with her light armour and stealthy ways and short blades- to handle the full power of an Ancient Dragon. She was lucky she could incapacitate it with her Voice, and that she still knew a few destruction spells besides having her Ebony Bow, or else she wouldn't have lasted long.

"Gaan Lah Haas! Die, damn you!"

It took a lot of shouting and a lot of stabbing before it did, and the force with which its soul rushed towards her afterwards was almost enough to knock her back due to her exhaustion.

Shakily, she dropped to her knees, supporting her on her hands, and she tried to level her breathing.

Well, one thing was sure; she would spend much of their voyage on the sea nursing her wounds.

A pair of dark-coloured boots obscured her view of the hard, yellow earth. "This position seems familiar, doesn't it? Too bad our agreement only says I am to serve for your _entertainment_. Had I been in your service completely, I would have had no choice but fight for you." He was clearly amused.

_She_ wasn't. How hadn't she thought of that? She hated loopholes; it meant she couldn't even blame him for his evilness.

"I hate you." Malvina whispered- "with all the intensity of a blizzard in Skyrim."

The bastard made an unconcerned sound, and he proceeded to grab a hold of her and lift her to her feet.

"Get me back to the inn." Feebly, she made an effort to sound commanding, but she failed horribly.

The First Dragonborn started leading her away and, the woman could not be sure- mostly because he'd insisted on wearing his mask for their outing- but she was willing to bet he was smirking.

Damn him, damn him and his snobbish attitude!

He was never going to let her live this down.

* * *

Hmm, "Books" is more and more fun to write, but I'm in a moral dilemma about what to do with the relationship between the characters- mostly because it would be so wonderfully cruel to add some sexual tension between them, but I'm unsure if I could ever pull that off, or if it would be appropriate (also, if that would mean I'd have to change the genre and possibly the rating of the story). Should I do that in a sequel?- You're welcome to tell me what you think would work best!


	8. Chapter 8

Two days- Malvina had learned years before- passed awfully slowly when one was black and blue all over. Still, those days before they left for Skyrim had seemed particularly agonizing. The reason for that, she could tell, was the masked man at the foot of her bed, carelessly looking through some sort of notes of his. Out of lack of things to do, she scoffed at him and watched him carefully; for someone who had been bullied into making that book, the Dragon Priest was taking the whole writing business much too seriously. She supposed she should have been glad, grateful even, but her acquired distrust for the man was preventing her from feeling such a thing. It was something to be expected, of course, after that little incident with the dragon; the one that was responsible for the deplorable state she found herself in.

"Have you nothing better to do but stare at me?" Miraak suddenly sneered, and his tone dripped with something akin to disdain. "It's pathetic." He didn't even had the decency to face her when he spoke, and she only narrowed her eyes further at that, infusing more loathing into her glower. Maybe, if she tried hard enough, she could make him hurt from it.

After only ten disappointing seconds of nothing happening, Malvina lashed at him verbally. That was always her option number 'two'. "Well, I could be in the market hunting for supplies, had I not been mauled half-to-death by a fire-breathing lizard!" The woman readjusted her left arm over her covers. She had been unable to get up from bed since he'd so rudely thrown her there when they got back to the inn.

It was plainly clear she was blaming him for that.

The man chuckled lowly, more amused than anything by her assuming, ego-centrist attitude; thanks to that infuriating mask, the sound was even more eerie than she'd remembered it to be. Life was so unfair.

"You _would_ assume everyone is obliged to care for your person and interests." He murmured, his nonchalance grating and out of place, in the Breton's opinion. "Allow me to inform you, woman, that the whole world does not owe you anything. And it would not reward you much, even if it did."

She knew he was smirking, and she knew it with fierce certainty. Malvina found that mask irked her more than before; for reason only gods knew, she wanted to see that stupid smirk. It was with that in mind that her glare became even sharper.

"Everyone on Nirn, with the exception of few, owes me their lives, at least." She hissed, partly out of anger and partly out of pain, for one of her wounds had just opened. Yes, indeed, something wet and warm seeped into her clothes; and since she'd stopped sleeping with food in her pockets long before she'd discovered Skyrim, the possibility of that not being her blood was ridiculously slim.

In a fleeting moment of pain-induced delirium, she considered the advantages and disadvantages of both scenarios. For once, blood was harder to wash than honey, but it was easier to stand sticking to the skin than that sticky, sugary-

"Were you hit by a draining spell? You look weak, and your fingernails are digging hard enough in your arms to leave marks." He asked that with such disconcert, she looked at him crossly. "Why do you care?" She snapped with some difficulty, and she hoped it didn't show. Heh, he was probably just messing with her anyway, nothing new there…

"I have my reasons." He answered, and his voice was so smooth and self-assured she wanted to choke him. Had she not been preoccupied with a second wound opening, she might have found the message itself peculiar, too. It was just too bad she was so dizzy with pain.

"Say, do you know any Restoration magic?" If questioned what gave her the idea that asking him _that_, of all things, made sense, she would say- well, something not at all related to the subject, probably, and hope it would serve as a good distraction.

She didn't really know herself, and she definitely didn't want _him_ to know that.

"Excuse me?"

"I think… " She stopped, inhaling sharply, and bit the inside of her cheek to stop any sound of distress pass he lips. A new wave of pain ripped through her body, and, well… "I, ugh, could use some healing. My wounds opened again."-that wasn't a scratch gotten in a bar fight, damn it, she needed a bit of help!

It killed her to have to ask Miraak for help, but the injuries were killing her more painfully, not to mention faster, than shame.

The First Dragonborn silently put away his work and lifted himself from his seat. The sad excuse of a chair he had been sitting in made an unpleasant sound when he did so, but aside from that, the room remained silent.

"I hate silence…" The Breton mumbled in response, and took some time to internally curse that mask of his to Oblivion and back once she had Miraak's tall frame towering over her bed. First of all because it was something to do, other than concentrate on her predicament – and that damned pain- and second of all because, with it on, she had virtually no idea of Miraak's intentions. The bastard could have been frowning at her for forcing him to heal her, thinking about how she didn't deserve his help….

…or he could have very well been smirking and planning to take advantage of her weakness and assassinate her, helpless as she was on that old, dirty bed.

That being said, there were probably two in ten scenarios where she didn't die a horrible death. He would only need not to heal her for her to have a good chance to die, too.

All in all, her day was just going great.

"I shall warn you only once-" His voice, reverberating so loudly due to the Nord's vicinity, startled Malvina enough for her to stop thinking about what the Dunmer folks in Raven Rock would do to her dead body; If he left her body intact, of course (would they put her incinerated self in an urn?). "-should you try to kick, punch or wiggle out of my grasp, I'm going back to my business and letting you bleed to death." Well, she supposed that made sense- Wait, what?

The woman blinked slowly, trying to catch up with what exactly he'd said. It was such a strange thing, to hear him indirectly admit he didn't want her to die; it was almost sacrilegious, came to think of it. Wasn't he the one that had rooted for that Dragon a short while back? What was the most puzzling was how easily he'd complied; never in the months since she'd learned of the man, had she thought would he be so willing to help- or try to, anyway.

Sweet Dibella, Miraak was most likely possessed, there was no other justification Malvina could think of for this… and if that was true, it was quite unlikely that giving him authority over her body- no matter how briefly- was that much of a good idea.

It was too late to change much it seemed, though, his hands were already surrounded by a warm orange glow, and despite the fact she usually found the burn of healing spells reassuring, she could only notice how the light made the shine of his mask give him a more fierce appearance.

Damn it all, she really did hate that thing….

Faced with such second thoughts, she made and last effort to protest. "Ugh, maybe…uh…maybe it wasn-" It was useless, really, because Miraak was already leaning over her, probably wondering why she was acting so childish. The woman observed that he was so infuriating tall, she could see little but his body.

The Nord's palm over her upper arm was burningly hot. "Lay still." He hissed, and something was surely not right, because she froze mindlessly where she was, heeding his instructions. That in itself was weird, for she never heeded instructions! "Close Wounds." He whispered, irritated, and it was a sound both soft and rumbling.

There was pain everywhere, like an explosion had been set up inside her, and she finally broke, and whimpered.

The noise she made din not sound very human-like, and she blamed the Companions for that, because it was their fault she was so often called a mutt- although the exact term was a bit more female-specific. She didn't remember healing to hurt so badly, there were just a few chunks of meat missing and a broken bone or two, nothing worse than what she had to deal with when she fought that smug lizard, Alduin. He was definitely killing her, then; it was decided.

"You…treacherous…" It was so hard to breath, and so exhausting to talk, but that needed to be said. "….shameless, bastard…" The Breton was so clearly about to pass out it wasn't even funny anymore…

"Excuse me?" That was just about the part he lifted an insolent eyebrow at her, she assumed, but she couldn't tell, and it had nothing to do with the blackness that had started clouding her eyes.

Gods, he was so hard to read. Stupid Miraak, stupid mask, stupid attitude.

She really needed to pawn that thing, since he insisted on keeping in on his face.

"You are such a strange woman…" Had he said anything but that, she didn't catch it; what she could safely say was that he it didn't sound like something someone supervising a murder would say (How did she know that? Well, that was harder to explain that dragons flying backwards…). Still, everything was losing focus around her, and it was a lot like being trapped in Pelagius' Mind all over again.

At least the blackness took away the pain, but she had never enjoyed being unconscious much.

* * *

"Sir…the captain sent me to tell'ya the ship set sails in a couple of hours." Nervously, the small elf drew circle in the floor with one of his feet. He was barefooted, what a surprise.

"Indeed?" Enjoying the fear that read in all of his gestures, Miraak turned in his chair, fluidly putting down his book. "Very well…" He drawled, smirking briefly under his mask. "It has been noted." He was just as direct as always, and it was puzzling why the elf lingered, still staring fixedly at the floor.

The former Dragon Pries sighed, a bit frustrated with the youngling. "You can go." How daft could one be? Was that not obvious?

"Umm, Sir…?" Even after his clear dismissal, the elf stumbled over his words, showing reluctance to leave. What was even more annoying was that he said nothing else.

"Yes?" This was getting tiring. "What is it already?"

"Is she…is she alright?" Skittishly, he pointed to the woman spread out on the bed.

Really, that was what everything was about? That Breton had her way of annoying him even when she was no longer really there.

"She's fine." He managed to say through his teeth; he _ready_ had not time for this kind of things. "We'll be there, just like he'd been told times before .Tell your captain not to doubt my word, or I shall be forced to deal with him personally. " The lad froze, and his already wide eyes turned unnaturally so.

"That is all." The First Dragonborn rasped.

Finally -_finally_-, the elf ran out the door.

* * *

So, it took a bit longer to wrap this chapter up- I wasted 4 days on less than 2% of this, but, yeah. Anyway, thanks everyone for reviewing and letting me know what you think about that "thing" I said in the last chapter. Don't worry; I'm not planning on changing things too much. I'll just make the sexual tension -which is apparently present already, I didn't think it was enough to be noticeable :)) – a bit more visible. I hope everyone is enjoying this story so far, and will continue to enjoy it in the future (we're about half-way through, I think)!


End file.
